


Back For More

by bioplast_hero



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BOM Keith, CHOSE NOT TO WARN, Combat Training, Lotor POV, M/M, Pain, Rivals almost Enemies definitely not Friends, Sexual Tension, Sparring, Swordfighting, s5 missing scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioplast_hero/pseuds/bioplast_hero
Summary: Keith’s BOM training doesn’t seem to be satisfying the boy, judging by the way he hurls himself at the prince every chance he gets. Lotor doesn’t particularly want to play… until he does.
Relationships: Keith/Lotor (Voltron)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 83
Collections: Lotor Week 2020





	Back For More

**Author's Note:**

> There are many Lotors that live in my head; this one is particularly dangerous. Let's see how far he goes.
> 
> Started as a twitter thread, dropping here to possibly continue. It's "complete" in that this one will never be resolved... until someone loses the game permanently. New scenes may pop up in the future. For once in my writerly life, I make no promises to warn for upsetting content.
> 
> Artist: [Kiki / FrenchPopsicle](https://twitter.com/FrenchPopsicle) made the cover art 💜❤️

“Are you quite done?” Lotor sneers. He’s vaguely disappointed, peering down at Keith’s prone form where he’s sprawled on the training room floor.

The half-Galra child fancies himself a fighter, but he has no form. He’s all reckless fury, undisciplined. The fight was over before it began.

Keith grinds his teeth, fighting for control of his breath. It was a hard throw— of that, Lotor is certain. The boy’s eyes are muzzy. And then he gets back up.

Unsteady on his feet, Keith takes a stance.

“Really,” Lotor drawls, “you’d make a bully of me, then? Go clean up.”

Keith holds his glare and doesn’t reply. But when Lotor turns to leave him unsatisfied, the child lunges with his Marmoran blade. 

It’s a simple attack to parry, all too obvious, and Keith takes the brunt of Lotor’s following volley, wincing as the prince batters him easily with the heft of his imperial broadsword. His own ears will be ringing from the clash of metal. He sweeps Keith’s knees with a faint and a sly foot, landing Keith roughly on his back with the point of his sword pinning the boy hard to the floor. 

He could easily pierce the Marmoran suit with that kind of thrust, sticking him like a damselfly for some grisly collection. He doesn’t, of course; Lotor can’t go making enemies of the Voltron paladins— not yet.

Keith’s eyes are wide, though the effect is rather more defiant than afraid. He smolders where he lays, watching and being watched.

“We are done here,” Lotor announces with a menacing grin. Turning to leave, he doesn’t miss when Keith pulls himself to his feet once again and follows hot on his heels.

That’s who he’s dealing with, then? The boy will not quit. Not until Lotor makes very sure that he does.

The prince turns as he parries, forcing Keith’s sword in a wide arc that breaks his novice grip. The disarm is too easy, and Lotor is bitter about that, too. Wasting his time, that is all this is. It isn’t even fun to beat on a fighter so utterly out of his depth. But beat on him he will, until the child learns a much-needed lesson.

Keith’s eyes are wide as he feels his sword leave his grasp, and it is fear this time. The boy’s boxing guard isn’t quite useless— he must’ve seen some fistfights in his day— but his instincts are terrible, elbows too high to protect his ribs and too low to guard his face properly. Lotor takes advantage of both in quick succession, cracking a rib just before his elbow hammers Keith’s jaw. The sound Keith makes is almost lewd, a choked gasp. His eyes flutter even as he tries to strike back, going pale as Lotor twists his arm and locks his shoulder. He keeps on twisting until the child hollers in pain and impotent rage.

Lotor enjoys this part, where his opponent slackens in his grasp, beaten, maybe broken. He waits for it as he watches Keith’s lip bleed where it is swollen, jaw blossoming with a vicious bruise. His pallor doesn’t improve, but neither does the boy slacken or submit. Lotor wrenches his shoulder again, dodges when Keith stomps very near his foot, and leans in to whisper in the boy’s ear.

“You are no warrior,” he says simply.

“Then teach me,” Keith grunts, eyes tipped up toward the far wall, still too proud.

Lotor grins. “No.” Then he strikes the back of Keith’s head, knocking him out cold.

The prince doesn’t drop him to the floor, knowing he’d only have to pick him back up again. Instead, he leaves their swords where they lay, carrying the unconscious youth down several halls through the Castle to the med lab where he can deposit him in a healing pod. 

Lotor can’t very well have any of his new ‘allies’ finding a pile of broken Keith and pointing fingers. He grins at the irony of how very effectively Keith has made himself his problem.

“You’re going to be trouble,” Lotor hums to himself, “aren’t you?”

//

“Back for more?”

Keith says nothing, only readies his blade to engage. Lotor doesn’t. He doesn’t need to. He waits Keith out until the youth runs at him. There’s plenty of passion in it, but little else of any use and Lotor deflects him easily. Undeterred, Keith stays close and moves fast, setting a wicked pace. Lotor feels a smile pull at his mouth. It’s smart; Keith’s blade is lighter, quicker than his broadsword, but Lotor is equal to it. 

Waiting for the perfect moment, he coaxes Keith to overreach and then lands a hard blow to his sternum. It’s dirty, but he never agreed to a gentlemanly duel. Hell, he never agreed to this at all.

Keith gulps for air, but it’s the distraction that does him in. Lotor’s sword point finds Keith’s throat and, regrettably, must hold steady there without bloodshed.

“What  _ is _ the point of this, kit?”

“I’m not a  _ kit _ ,” Keith scowls.

“You pout like one,” Lotor smirks at him.

Keith growls low in warning, as though he’s not the one with a tip of steel at his neck.

“You will not beat me.”

“I don’t need to beat you,” Keith mutters, “not yet.”

Lotor barks a laugh at that, loud and carefree. He withdraws his sword. “Find some other sword master, paladin. I tire of this.”

He catches Keith’s next swing. But only barely— if he’s honest, which he is not.

//

“You leave yourself open,” Lotor comments. Keith sways on his knees, reeling and cradling his ribs. That’s four ribs he’s broken in half as many weeks, possibly five from the decisive sound of the blow. A bit in spite of himself, Lotor is starting to enjoy breaking them.

Keith spits blood on the floor, looking up angrily through ragged bangs. He doesn’t answer. He rarely does. But he does climb to his feet through great effort, gathers his Marmoran blade at a few stiff paces, then turns to face Lotor again.

He takes a rattling breath, resets, and settles into a stance that is irritatingly familiar. It looks a bit like his own.

“Well at least you pay attention,” Lotor bites out. Keith arches an eyebrow and it rankles.

Lotor moves first this time, forcing Keith into his heels as he yields some of his position and most of his attitude. Keith is quick. Keith is  _ smart, _ too, and moves to the angle to better evade when he knows he can’t block Lotor’s punishing swings with his battered frame. 

The child shows great potential, which is a more honest thought than Lotor will ever willingly share. But the prince has centuries of experience on which to draw, facing the very best and most brutal opponents. What does this cub know of war?

Lotor feels his broadsword make contact, knowing that he will follow through. The Marmoran armor is no match for it, not here at his side beneath the breastplate. It’s not a deep wound, though it spills blood for sure. It’s the rib beneath it, however, that pushes Keith over the edge. The boy lurches away with a clatter of his sword to the ground, yowling from the sting of it, blood slipping over his gloved fingers as he clutches his side.

“And here I was wondering if the kit actually  _ liked _ the pain,” Lotor sneers, blood beating hard in his ears. “I guess he does not.”

Keith wheezes, clenching his eyes closed when tears threaten.

Lotor glares at him. “Why.”

“Why what,” Keith gasps the words.

“Why  _ this,” _ Lotor seethes as he gestures at Keith’s, well,  _ everything _ — at his many injuries and the blood he’s spilt. It’s quite a sight. Keith looks right past all of it, not answering. “When you are not away training with your Marmorans, you seem determined to spend the rest of your hours in a healing pod.”

Keith spits. “What makes you think I don’t spend half of my time  _ there _ in a healing pod?” His laugh is dark and sour-tasting. 

Lotor pulls up short, scrutinizing the kit in front of him. It checks out. If this halfling runt means to live up to his new charge and keep pace with others who have already spent their careers honing their skills, he would need to absorb years of training in mere months. And if there’s anyone fit to compress a lifetime into a few short years, Lotor realizes that Keith, with his exquisite stubbornness, could probably do just that.

Burning at both ends, the future be damned, seems to be what this one does best.

“Why fight  _ me, _ then,” the prince questions, “if you have Kolivan’s lot to bludgeon you senseless?”

Keith frowns and looks away. That might’ve struck a nerve.

“Would you not prefer save all your little tricks for taking down the empire?”

“Not the ones that don’t work,” Keith grumbles. Lotor wants to laugh, because it’s true. Keith is just as smart as the prince thought. And he’s pale, too— far too pale as the cub stands before him, holding himself together and sucking on his split lip. He needs a pod and soon.

“Don’t even think about it,” Keith threatens before Lotor even moves. Keith has neither weapon nor strength to threaten anyone with, but he does anyway. Lotor’s chest tightens with something like pride.

Lotor points his sword at the door. “Get yourself to the med bay before you need to be carried there.”

“We are not done here.” Keith snarls like a cranky kitten who needs a nap. He’s blinking too much, trying to clear his head. It isn’t working.

“Yes, we are—” Lotor darts forward as Keith swoons toward his knees, catching him roughly across the middle. The boy must be dead to the world, or he would have howled in pain.

Hoisting Keith against his chest, Lotor jerks his head to toss a strand of his hair from his own eyes. He sighs, resigned to scrubbing blood from his armor later.

All this trouble, and for what?

//

“No blades,” Lotor says.

“Fat chance,” Keith retorts.

The prince arches an eyebrow coolly. “Surrender it, or don’t and I will take it. One way or another, this fight will be without swords.”

Keith hesitates. “But why?”

“Because,” Lotor shouts, “if I swing a sword right now, I will end your pathetically short life, and then there will be questions,” he seethes.

Keith squints like he takes it as a challenge. Lotor should know better by now. Nothing will make this human yield except force. 

But he meant what he said, and he will move to disarm the runt immediately lest his dark mood get the better of him and end these little sessions permanently.

It’s a bit trickier than it would have been had Lotor not warned the youth he would be disarming him. It was a surprising rush of candor, really. What has gotten into him?

Keith uses what he knows and fights rather more recklessly than he has in a while, hellbent on keeping his weapon at the cost of leaving vital targets exposed. It’s idiotic and infuriating. Lotor gnashes his teeth as he resists the overwhelming urge to run the boy right through for his imprudence.

“I said—” Lotor raises his voice as he finally gets the angle that he needs to spin Keith’s blade wide and wrench it from his grip. “No— Blades—” he thunders as he launches both weapons beyond their reach and proceeds to pummel Keith’s exposed ribs with a crushing knee. The cracking sound scratches an itch and Lotor realizes he’s been dying to vent his frustration on this boy’s body. So fragile. So human.

Keith’s cry is faint. It’s a surprise. He should have screamed— but then, he is rather more familiar with the feeling of broken ribs now, isn’t he? And was that the point?

The kit does not fold at the first broken bone, and that alone should be telling enough, but then he moves decisively with bruising elbows and his own sharp knees. He’s groaning as he suffers through the pain, using his already broken body as a weapon. He fights hard and, unexpectedly, wallops Lotor across the face with a very spirited elbow.

That’s all he gets before Lotor bests him, tripping Keith to the floor and landing hard on both the boy’s arm and his other side. This rib doesn’t break, if only because Lotor didn’t quite want it to lest he puncture a lung. He’s already decided  _ not _ to kill the cub today, else the sword would have been simpler.

But the impact still rattles the child, given his other injuries, and his arm is clearly mangled from the force of his shin. This time, Keith screams.

“Ah,” Lotor observes, “there is sense in you, after all.” He’s almost proud, not sure of what. Of himself. Of Keith’s stubbornness and his submission, both.

“Why, kit, are you so bent on your own destruction?”

“Don’t call- me kit!” Keith pants angrily. “And why- I don't want- that's not—”

Lotor shifts his weight, casually torturing the kid just because he can. Keith grits his teeth and hardly whimpers at all, eyes wide with a different kind of alarm.

“I said I would kill you if I had a sword, and what did you do?”

Keith laughs bitterly, wincing painfully as he does. “Maybe I- wanted to know- if you really would—” he coughs, tears gathering in his eyes. Lotor keeps him firmly pinned, coolly watching him suffer. “Guess you wouldn’t.”

Lotor rolls his eyes. “And why would I need to, when you’re so keen on taking care of it yourself.”

Keith looks away then. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I was there, little one,” Lotor answers. “At Naxzela. I saw everything, more clearly than most.”

“You don’t know- what you- saw.” 

“I have some questions, yes,” Lotor agrees easily. “But I also know that you know you would not have survived.”

Keith won’t look at him. In the silence, Lotor wonders what makes a handsome young thing throw himself away.

“Well,” Lotor continues. “It’d be a pity.”

Keith’s eyes snap to his, then. “Wh- why?”

“Because I’d miss it.” It. This.

Him.

//

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [**twitter**](https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero)
> 
> Other Lotor works by this author:
> 
>   * Lotorcest noncon [Asymmestry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26081176)
>   * Leithal threesome [Hers, Thine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874854)
>   * Lotura ABO [Lotus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079196)
>   * Mattor slowburn [Aren't I the Lucky One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171101)
>   * Mattor fear boner [The Lies We Tell Ourselves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130469)
>   * Shotor fwb [Unspoken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127079)
>   * Sheitor voyeurism [His Eyes Only](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26123509)
> 

> 
> I appreciate even simple comments, even just emoji or keysmashes— all welcome. Thank you for reading and telling me you were here. 💜❤️


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